


Dogs, Nature, and Porthos

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogs, M/M, Mental Breakdown, in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dogs, nature and Porthos, basically. They have dogs, they walk. They walk together. They get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dogs, Nature, and Porthos

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: breakdown in the past, anxiety, mention of past accidental drug overdose (no death, not one of the main characters, not named)

Athos lets Asta and Gaspode off their leads, then straightens up. Gaspode goes tearing off across the park, Asta makes right for Princess, the Collie Asta wants to be best friends with. Athos can't remember Princess' owner's name, but he recognises the bulk of him, his wide shoulders, his casual gait, as he comes over.

 

“Morning,” Athos says, watching Asta try to play with Princess, who's at least twice his size.

 

“Porthos.”

 

“What?”

 

“My name. You always forget. Shall we?”

 

Athos nods, and Porthos (it is his name, too, Athos remembered as he said it) turns. They walk side by side, in step. The first morning Asta had followed Princess around Athos had realised that he and Porthos walk almost at a pace, and it had been embarrassing, following a few feet behind. He'd slowed down. The next morning, Porthos had waited for him, introduced himself and Princess, and since then they've walked side by side.

 

Gaspode tends to just charge off, but Princess and Asta stay close, bringing sticks and making friends with the other dogs they pass. Porthos takes them up the steep path today, and Athos doesn't complain. When Porthos runs up, though, Athos just keeps walking. Porthos, Athos has realised, has excess energy sometimes. He'll wait for Athos at the top.

 

“You should come running with me,” Porthos says, falling back into step to walk the ridge.

 

“I run alone,” Athos says.

 

“Used to walk alone, too,” Porthos points out.

 

“It's different,” Athos says.

 

Porthos shrugs, and jerks his head towards the gate that'll take them around the long loop, questioning. Athos nods, and they climb over. They have to wait while Athos whistles for Gaspode, and for the mutt to come crashing up through the undergrowth. Porthos holds up the dog-door for him, and then they move on.

 

The morning is bright and clear, spring rain giving way to sunshine as the day breaks. It's cold, but the sunshine is nice. It's early yet, and the people out are pre-work joggers, or people like him and Porthos who like the morning. Athos likes the morning, anyway. He assumes Porthos does. They walk up through the woods, Porthos slowing to look at the bluebells.

 

“Work today?” Porthos asks, when they're about half-way around.

Athos shrugs and doesn't answer. He likes walking with Porthos, because for the most part Porthos is a quiet companion. He asks questions now and then, but if Athos doesn't answer, he never presses. Athos likes that. He doesn't have work, he hasn't worked in two years, since his breakdown. He doesn't need to, he's lucky. He whistles for Gaspode again.

 

The rest of the loop they do in silence, except for Porthos admiring the view from the top of the field. He always admires the view, nudging Athos and trying to get him to admire as well. Athos does think it's beautiful here. Surrey countryside is wonderful. He keeps quiet, though, and they come back down the other side of the woods, pausing to put the dogs on leads when they reach the lane. They walk back to the car park together, then Athos gives Porthos a small smile and a nod, and they part company.

 

“Tomorrow?” Porthos calls, turning back.

 

Athos nods. Tomorrow. Every morning. For the past month, they've walked together every morning.

 

**

 

A week later, Porthos keeps on sniffing. It's distracting, and annoying. Athos walks a few feet ahead for a while. He can still hear it, though. He finds a travel pack of tissues tucked into his inside pocket, and offers them to Porthos.

 

“Sorry, bit of a cold,” Porthos says, accepting the tissues. “It's bugging you.”

 

Athos shrugs. It is, but he can live with it if Porthos blows his nose now and then.

 

“Princess! Come on, girl. It's just some bugger's piss, surely it can't be that fascinating,” Porthos calls, trailing off into grumbling.

 

Athos smiles, amusement bubbling up. He touches Porthos' arm, and Porthos gives him a wide, happy smile. Then he sneezes. Athos walks a few feet behind, this time. They only do the short walk. The trail through the woods is wet from last night's rain, and the trees keep dripping on them. Porthos curses and staggers about dramatically, until Athos catches up and walks beside him again.

 

“Wait a sec,” Athos says, and whistles for Gaspode.

 

Asta comes up, too, and sits, tail wagging, hoping for a treat. Athos doesn't give him one. They move off again, and Athos notices the field they usually walk through on this route has cows in it. He puts Gaspode on the lead, and Porthos grabs Princess and puts her on, too. Asta is already off, barking madly. Athos calls him back, whistles, then uses his fingers to give a shrill, angry whistle. Asta stops, turns, and comes back.

 

“Ow,” Porthos says, laughing. “That was loud.”

 

“Stupid dog,” Athos says, getting Asta on the lead.

 

“Gotta teach me that whistle. That was cool,” Porthos says.

 

Porthos is the only person Athos knows who says 'cool' without even a small hint of irony or sarcasm. He's also the only person Athos knows who'd even consider calling a dog 'Princess' without a hint of sarcasm or irony. Athos had thought Porthos was winding him up, at first. Porthos sneezes again, and scares the cows. Asta barks.

 

The bottom of the field is muddy and wet, Athos' wellies sink right in. Porthos, in trainers, curses some more and gets tangled in Princess' lead, nearly going over. Athos steadies him, grinning, and they climb over the stile, letting the dogs back off. Asta tries to go running back for the cows, so Athos whistles again and has to spend the last ten minutes of the walk teaching Porthos how to do it. Porthos just manages to spit everywhere.

 

**

 

Athos sees Princess, running across the field towards Asta, Gaspode on her heels. Her owner is sat on the stile by the carpark, eating a bacon roll. It smells like bacon, anyway. Athos has forgotten his name again, and he doesn't provide it, just smiling at Athos and starting walking. Athos keeps pace, shoulder to shoulder, keeping an eye on Gaspode and Asta.

 

He suggests, with a tilt of his head, that they head downhill this morning. It's warmer than it has been recently, and it hasn't rained for a few days, so it should be dry down by the stream. Athos likes the water. Princess goes running down the path, making the choice for her owner. Athos wonders how he can ask for a name without appearing to be a complete tosser.

 

His companion is unusually silent, today. Athos doesn't mind, exactly. He likes the quiet, and sometimes the questions and comments get annoying. There's a gloomy quality to the silence, though. It's weighted. It's aggravating. Athos feels himself becoming tense, which is the exact opposite of what he wants from these walks. He whistles sharply for Gaspode.

 

“What's wrong?” Athos asks, when they reach the stream, leaning on the bridge.

 

“Pooh sticks?”

 

“No.”

 

“Work. Just… work. Nothing much. It's Porthos, by the way. Again,” Porthos says, then sighs, leaning on the railing.

 

“I remembered,” Athos lies.

 

“No you didn't. It's fine, I get it- you're not good with names. You always remember Princess, I've nothing to complain of. I don't mind. You can just ask, when you forget. Not annoyed about that.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Shall we?”

 

“You can tell me about work, if you like,” Athos says, moving off.

 

They walk along the bank of the stream for a while, Porthos sunk into silence again. It seems more thoughtful this time, and there's less tension. Athos breathes easier and watches Asta and Princess jump into the water. Gaspode comes splashing up from downstream, shaking himself in front of Porthos and soaking him.

 

“Oh! Fuck!” Porthos yells. Athos laughs. “Not heard you do that, before.”

 

“Laughing?”

 

“Yeah. You never seemed to welcome confidences, either. Two firsts, for this morning.”

 

Athos walks a few feet ahead for a bit, a little embarrassed. Porthos catches him as they start the climb back up, and Athos slows, trying to fall behind. Porthos keeps in step, though, whistling something mindless. He claps Athos' shoulder when they part, at the car park. He doesn't usually touch, letting Athos do it if he wants.

 

**

 

“It's raining.”

 

Athos looks up. He's sheltering under the boot of the car, clipping Asta and Gaspode's leads on. There's a short walk from the car park to the field they usually meet Princess in. Athos has forgotten her owner's name again, so he just nods.

 

“Porthos.”

 

“Right,” Athos says. “Sorry.”

 

Porthos shrugs.

 

“I had noticed the rain,” Athos says.

 

It's tipping it down, vertical, straight rain that soaks you in seconds. Porthos grins, suddenly bright with joy. He holds something out to Athos. Athos peers at it without taking it, and Porthos wiggles it. Athos accepts it, and recognises an apple. Porthos shrugs when Athos gives him a questioning look. Athos pockets the apple and shuts the car.

 

Asta doesn't like the rain, and pads along at Athos' side, tail and head down. He keeps giving Athos betrayed looks. Porthos seems to like the rain well enough, running with Princess to make up for the loss of her usual companion, laughing, going through the puddles ignoring the fact that he's wearing trainers and getting soaked. Athos whistles for Gaspode more often than usual, keeping an eye.

 

“Which way?” Porthos says, at the crossroads.

 

Athos points straight ahead, and Porthos nods, running ahead with a yell, Princess and Gaspode at his heels, barking. Athos catches up just under the trees, Porthos leaning against a beech, beaming. His hair's slicked to his head, he's completely soaked, and he looks incredibly happy, incredibly muddy, and worse than the dogs. Athos shakes his head.

 

“What?” Porthos asks, falling into step.

 

“You. You're like a puppy,” Athos says.

 

“Nah. Look, it's raining, I'm gonna get wet and muddy, I might as well embrace it, yeah? I'm not like you- haven't got the right clothes for this, really. I should buy some wellies, a better raincoat. A raincoat.” Porthos says. He tugs the jacket he's got on away from his wet skin ruefully.

 

“Can't you afford it?” Athos asks. Porthos laughs, slinging an arm over Athos' shoulders then quickly removing it again.

 

“Sorry. I can afford it ten times over, mate. Just lazy. Come on, where's your Gaspode?”

 

Athos whistles, but Gaspode doesn't appear. Porthos wriggles his eyebrows, jams his fingers in his mouth, and whistles. He bends forward with the force, and the sound he emits is high pitched, shrill, and loud. He beams at Athos, when he's done. Gaspode comes thundering up.

 

“I've been practising,” Porthos says.

 

Athos steers them up higher, following the wider paths. Porthos keeps to Athos' side the rest of the walk, hands in pockets, head tilted up into the rain. He can say whatever he likes about just embracing being wet, Athos is always going to believe he loves it. There's something so peaceful about his expression as he wanders along. He starts to shiver as they reach the track back to the carpark, though, and Athos is thinking what an idiot he is by the time they get to the cars.

 

“Come on,” Porthos says, touching Athos' arm.

 

Athos gives him a questioning look, but Porthos is already walking off. Athos follows, trying to catch up to ask what he wants. Porthos opens his boot and Princess jumps in, shaking herself. Porthos pulls a flask out from under her bed, and holds it up, grinning. Athos half expects brandy, but it's just coffee- thick, dark, black, and hot. Porthos gives him two cups of it and they sit on the back of the car drinking it.

 

**

 

“Porthos!” Athos calls, spotting Porthos walking off. He's later than usual, and had expected Porthos to be gone. Porthos turns and raises a hand in greeting, smiling widely.

 

“Thought you were missing a day,” Porthos says, when Athos catches up.

 

“Just running late,” Athos says. “Overslept.”

 

“Mm. Busy evening at work?”

 

“Stop fishing. Gaspode! Don't you dare!” Athos yells, catching sight of Gaspode stalking a small puppy. Gaspode comes over, wagging his tail. “Stupid mutt. Good boy.”

 

“Got to do the short loop this morning,” Porthos says. “Work.”

 

“Sure,” Athos says, turning them in the right direction.

 

It's misty, this morning, and quiet. No one else seems to be taking their route. Athos pauses, stooping to look at some mushrooms. He judges them edible and picks some, finding a paper bag for them in his pocket. Porthos watches him, dubious, and mutters something about Athos poisoning himself. Athos smiles.

 

He's been picking mushrooms since he was a child, and knows perfectly well how to identify edible from poisonous. He used to collect them fresh for the restaurant, and poisoning patrons doesn't tend to go down well. He had to prove his expertise in the area before he could pass health and safety checks. He pops a mushroom into his mouth, to Porthos' horror.

 

“If you get high and start dancing in the rain, I'm not towing you back to the car. You can drown in the field,” Porthos says, striding ahead.

 

Athos catches up, amused. Porthos seems faintly distressed by it all, though. Athos touches his arm, stopping, bringing Porthos to a stop, too. Athos catches his eyes, and finds Porthos unhappy. His jaw's tight, and his eyes keep trying to slide away.

 

“I'm a chef. I know what I'm doing,” Athos says.

 

“Oh,” Porthos says.

 

“Alright?”

 

“Yeah. Friend trying to get high, nearly died,” Porthos says. “Stupid twat. Years ago. Never forget watching your mate vomiting and shitting himself.”

 

“Sorry. I've picked my own mushrooms for years, I've never poisoned a customer. Or myself,” Athos says.

 

Porthos nods, looking more relaxed.

 

“I was only thirteen,” Porthos says. “He was a stupid twat.”

 

Athos nods, and sets them moving again. Porthos cheers up after a bit, and starts getting Athos to identify mushrooms when they pass, and point out things that are edible. He even tries one of Athos' mushrooms, stating that it just tastes like dirt.

 

“A chef. That's a pretty interesting job. I love food,” Porthos says, as they loop back around.

 

“Are you angling for a dinner invitation?”

 

“No! Of course not! You could be crap for all I know.”

 

Porthos is grinning, trying to wind Athos up. Athos feels a pang. Five years ago he had two Michelin stars, and would have been able to show Porthos with a flourish just how not-crap he was. Now, though, he's just a bloke with a dog and no job and a bit of a sad, lonely life. Porthos nudges him, and Athos looks up. Porthos is offering him a flower, plucked from the hedgerow by the look of it. Athos shakes his head, but accepts the offering.

 

**

 

“What do you do for a living?” Athos asks, abruptly, the next morning.

 

He'd got home yesterday and realised that he never really asked Porthos about work, except that once. He decided he'd do better in future, and now here he is, dogs still on the leads, sinking slowly into the mud, rain falling gently around him, Porthos blinking at him. Porthos in a new raincoat. Porthos with a cavalier hat. With a rather sad looking feather. Athos blinks the rain out of his eyes, but the feather's still there.

 

“Like my hat?” Porthos asks, grinning.

 

“No. What's with the dead bird?” Athos asks, plucking the feather out.

 

“Oi!” Porthos says, but he's laughing. “It's a joke, from a friend. He saw me wearin' this and thought the feather 'jaunty'. His word.”

 

“Why the hat?” Athos asks.

 

Porthos shrugs, setting off up the field towards the track. Athos falls into step, then stops to let the dogs off. Asta sticks close again, hating the water. Gaspode runs joyfully off, barking.

 

“I'm an engineer. Sort of. I set machines, and run the shifts. I work for a factory, we make plastic stuff. Injection moulding,” Porthos says.

 

“Fascinating,” Athos says.

 

Porthos laughs again, completely un-offended by Athos' attitude to his work, or his hat, or his feather. Athos likes that about Porthos. He's not only able to be quiet, he's also able to accept Athos' more acerbic, ugly comments without turning a hair. Athos is aware that he's not always the kindest of people.

 

Actually, he thinks he's quite soft. He's easily touched by people and things, he cries at Pixar movies, he gives to charity and volunteers. He just doesn't know how to express those feelings without being entirely vulnerable. He's built himself a fortress, and doesn't know quite how to dismantle it. He gets anxious, too, and blurts things out.

 

Athos sighs, thinking about his faults, thoughts spiralling into a dark place. He walks quietly, one foot in front of the other, Asta comforting at his side. He paces, shoving his hands into his pockets, ducking his head. He is glad it is raining, his outward world reflecting his inner. He loses himself in the beat of the water, the thick swells of his thoughts, the bite of the cold.

 

“Sometimes when it rains I remember my mother. We used to walk in it. She didn't have a car, but I didn't know that walking in the rain wasn't a treat. If we waited for a bus, she'd tuck me inside her coat and close it over me and her, me in warm against her body. I loved that. Used to wish it'd rain more often so I could get in there with 'er. Sometimes she'd take my hand and show me the footsteps we left behind, tell me stories about footprints and the marks we leave in the world,” Porthos says.

 

Athos comes back to the present, and finds Porthos smiling at him, watchful, waiting for him to come back. When Athos focusses on him Porthos' smile widens. Athos gives him a small smile in return and Porthos falls quiet again, slackening their pace. Athos realises he sped up. They're nearly back. He hates losing time like that, and he shivers, feeling tired all of a sudden. He's been much better recently.

 

“Coffee?” Porthos offers, gently, pointing out his car.

 

Athos nods and sits in Porthos' boot. Porthos gives him coffee, and then goes to rummage in the front, returning with a battered chocolate bar. He breaks it in two and makes Athos eat one half. He offers Athos another apple, too, and looks disapproving when Athos tries to refuse it. So Athos eats the chocolate, and the fruit, and drinks the coffee. Porthos nods his approval and settles beside Athos.

 

“I'm fine,” Athos says.

 

“Alright.”

 

“I'm fine.”

 

“I'm not. Often, I'm not fine at all. Sometimes it's all I can do not to go all Simon and Garfunkle.”

 

“What?”

 

“Hello, darkness, my old friend,” Porthos sings, smiling. Then he shrugs. “We've all got stuff, Athos. Pain, mental health, illness, history. Baggage. You're hardly unique.”

 

“Is that… supposed to be comforting?” Athos asks.

 

It is, though. Both comforting and easy to move on from. It's not a platitude, not a reassurance, just a gentle reminder that Athos isn't alone, will never be alone, because there really is nothing unique about suffering. Nothing unique about pain. It feels like you're the only one to ever feel it, but you never are. Athos feels a warm relief, gratitude for Porthos washing over him.

 

**

 

A week later, they walk in complete silence. Porthos is grumpy after a long night-shift (he tells Athos a bit about work, these days), and is sharp with Athos when Athos forgets his name to begin with. Athos remains quiet and Porthos doesn't try to dissuade him from that. He indicates the route he wants to take through grunts and head jerks, and Athos goes along with it.

 

They reach the car park, much faster than they ever have before both because Porthos took them on a shorter route and because Porthos set a faster pace. Athos feels conflicted. He's not ready to give up the only company he's going to get today, but Porthos is clearly not in a good mood and Athos doesn't want to get on his bad side.

 

“Coffee?” Athos offers, abruptly and a little absurdly.

 

“I didn't bring it today, it's not raining,” Porthos says, yawning widely.

 

“I meant would you like to get some,” Athos says.

 

“Oh. No, I'm going home to sleep. I'm knackered,” Porthos says.

 

“Okay,” Athos says, making for his car, trying not to show his reaction to that.

 

It feels like a rejection, and something sharp presses at his ribs, making his breath come too fast. He hasn't had a panic attack in months, and he doesn't want to have one now. He wrenches open the boot, and the dogs jump in. Athos wraps his arms around Gaspode, and Asta licks his ear. Athos breathes easier. He loves his dogs. Gaspode is his service dog, though Athos doesn't need him much, spending most of his time alone at home as he does, and he gives wonderful cuddles.

 

“I didn't mean to be that dismissive,” Porthos says, from right behind Athos.

 

Athos starts, and Gaspode gives him a lick and then growls at Porthos, jumping out of the car and standing between him and Athos. Porthos steps back.

 

“Gaspode,” Athos says, gently. “It's just Porthos. I'm fine.”

 

Athos clicks his fingers, letting Gaspode know he's okay. Gaspode sits at his side, alert, on duty. Athos gives his ears a quick rub in thanks.

 

“Sorry,” Porthos says. “Didn't mean to make you jump.”

 

“He just looks out for me,” Athos says.

 

“He a service animal?” Porthos asks. Athos must look surprised, because Porthos smiles. “He works, sometimes, when we meet other people. Asta goes to play, Gaspode comes to you, especially if you're a bit fussy. Plus that display just now.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Sorry for being sharp today. Been on nights last three days, I'm tired. Two off, now, though. Time to sleep. Um, I was just saying no to coffee. Literally, the coffee. Not to you. I realised you might have been… um… were you?”

 

“Was I what?” Athos asks, tensing. Gaspode growls softly.

 

“Asking me out,” Porthos says, wincing. “You weren't. Sorry. Always misunderstand that. Miss cues and so on. Not good at the flirting thing, can never tell.”

 

“I was, actually,” Athos admits.

 

“Oh. Um. Yes, then. Just not coffee, and maybe not today.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. Obviously. I like you. Um, I'm ace. And trans. And a bit fucked up, really, sometimes.”

 

“Are these sort of warning labels?” Athos asks, smiling. “I have a few of my own, but I think you know them.”

 

“Mad chef, grouchy so and so, anxious and a bit miserable?” Porthos asks, softening the list with an affectionate smile. “Oh, and not so hot about touching.”

 

“That comes with time,” Athos says. “I'm not touch averse, just like to trust people a lot before giving them free reign. I'm not actually a chef.”

 

“What? You told me,” Porthos says.

 

“Used to be. Had a mental breakdown.”

 

“Um. Sorry. About that. Um. You can still cook, right?” Porthos asks, a ripple of amusement passing through him before he makes his face earnest.

 

“Yes,” Athos says, cautiously.

 

“Great. Because that was my main reason for saying yes, you know. Chef means you can cook things for me. Good food. Exciting sweet things,” Porthos says, another flash of amusement breaking through.

 

“Go away, Porthos,” Athos says.

 

“Hey, will you remember my name, now?”

 

“If not, I will simply refer to you as 'Princess'.”

 

Porthos laughs, and as he does, the sun comes out, turning him bright. Athos smiles up at him, and touches his cheek, stilling him and quieting him. Porthos breathes in sharply, then lunges forward and kisses Athos.

 

“Sorry, sorry, wanted to do that for so long,” Porthos whispers, pulling away.

 

Athos pulls him back and kisses him until they're breathless.

 

“Ace?” Athos asks. “I know what it means. But, the kissing?”

 

“Like kissing.”

 

Athos kisses him again. Gaspode whines, and Asta jumps down. Athos pulls away with a groan, getting his dogs back into the car. Princess is barking from Porthos'. Porthos sighs. They agree that tomorrow morning will be soon enough.

 

**

 

 


End file.
